


A Touch of the Divine

by Lurlur



Series: Principality of Hell [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), BDSM, Bondage, Butt Plugs, Cock Rings, Communication, Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Divinity Kink, Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fallen Angel Aziraphale (Good Omens), Honesty, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shibari, Smut, Sub Crowley (Good Omens), Whipping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:40:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23554681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: Sometimes, Aziraphale will leave Crowley waiting, taking his time over whatever task he is finishing up, or reading a couple of chapters further into his book. Other times, like today, Aziraphale is through the door as soon as Crowley has taken his position. It’s a sure sign that whatever Aziraphale has planned is something that he’s excited to try.A porny one-shot from my Principality of Hell universe.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Principality of Hell [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695334
Comments: 35
Kudos: 190
Collections: Top Aziraphale Recs





	A Touch of the Divine

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to NarumiKaiko for the INCREDIBLE beta services once again! You are a treasure and I love you.
> 
> Thank you to JeanieNitro, Sosobriquet, and Kitttheshadow for spilling inspiration into my brain.
> 
> I've been mentioning a follow up to Gone With The Sin for a few months and, well, this isn't it. But it is coming. It will have plot and all that good stuff. This is just porn.

It’s a shiver of anticipation, not nervousness or cold. At least, that’s what Crowley tells himself as he strips off his clothing. A shiver runs the length of his spine once more as he folds his clothes into a neat pile. He waits, as is his custom, at the foot of the bed, kneeling with his back to the bed and his hands on his thighs.

Sometimes, Aziraphale will leave Crowley waiting, taking his time over whatever task he is finishing up, or reading a couple of chapters further into his book. Other times, like today, Aziraphale is through the door as soon as Crowley has taken his position. It’s a sure sign that whatever Aziraphale has planned is something that he’s excited to try. Crowley keeps his eyes dead ahead, only tracking Aziraphale’s rough movements and none of the detail.

Aziraphale strokes the side of Crowley’s face, a caress that he can’t help but lean into; Aziraphale’s forearms are bare with his dark red shirtsleeves rolled to just above his elbows. He maintains the touch as he passes in front of Crowley, almost offering the inside of his wrist to Crowley’s lips. The temptation to kiss the delicate skin, to feel Aziraphale’s pulse jump under his touch, it doesn’t warrant even a token resistance. Crowley’s eyes close as he focuses on the warm, dry skin that grazes his mouth.

“Oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale sounds soft and seductive, and Crowley is immediately alert. “My sweet, darling love. Would you do anything I asked of you?”

He sits on the end of the bed beside where Crowley is kneeling, his thigh brushing against Crowley’s shoulder. In the brief moment of silence, Aziraphale begins to comb his fingers through Crowley’s hair.

“No, Angel,” Crowley says once he finds his tongue.

“No?” Aziraphale’s smile is audible in his voice. “What won’t you do?”

“I won’t harm myself, physically or mentally. I won’t allow you to do me harm that can’t be healed. I won’t put myself or allow you to put me into situations that I deem too dangerous.” Crowley never gives the same wording twice, preferring an honest demonstration of his understanding to a memorised speech. He knows that it’s the meaning that matters to Aziraphale.

“And how will you stop me if I begin to push you too far?” Aziraphale continues stroking Crowley’s hair as he asks, keeping the conversation calm.

“I will use our agreed safe word or signal.” Crowley takes a steadying breath and leans into Aziraphale’s leg an almost imperceptible amount. “Amber to pause. Red to stop. Dropping my bell if I’m gagged.” It’s not as mortifying as it used to be, saying these things out loud, but Crowley still blushes.

“Very good, my love.” Crowley feels Aziraphale press a kiss into his hair and melts just a little. “Tell me why a word or simple action is enough to stop me from doing whatever I want?”

Crowley stiffens. This is a new question and one he’s unsure of the correct answer for. He twists enough to be able to see Aziraphale’s face, needing to witness the immediate reaction to his answer.

“Because I trust you, Angel. You look after me.”

Aziraphale looks like he might combust from happiness, the smile he bestows upon Crowley crinkles his eyes enough to distort the first subtle grey chevrons that follow his hairline.

“Whatever did I do to deserve you, darling?” Aziraphale asks, so fond and gentle.

It must be a rhetorical question because before Crowley can open his mouth to answer, Aziraphale is kissing him and drawing him up onto the bed. He goes willingly, letting Aziraphale cover him with his strong, comfortable body. Aziraphale seems hungry for him, deepening the kiss and licking hotly into his mouth. Crowley is achingly hard in mere moments.

“Oh, my pet, my beauty,” Aziraphale moans into Crowley’s mouth, sounding almost needy.

“Yes, Angel, yours. Always yours.”

Crowley’s hips roll up into Aziraphale’s thigh, a grinding motion he didn’t intend to make that rubs his hard cock into the valley where hip and thigh join. Aziraphale breaks the kiss and looks at Crowley with dark, unreadable eyes.

“Halo and wings, please,” Aziraphale shuffles back off the bed, leaving Crowley alone. He pats a spot on the bed along the centre line and about two-thirds of the way towards the foot. “Kneel here.”

Crowley grimaces but doesn’t argue. He hates manifesting what remains of his halo, hates that Aziraphale likes to see it, hates that Aziraphale still refers to it as a halo, but he’s well-behaved and keen to please so he does as he’s told.

“You are so very beautiful, Crowley. I think I should like to admire you more freely today,” Aziraphale snaps his fingers and summons a length of soft, black rope. “Are you ready to fly?”

Crowley nods, his heart hammering with anticipation of the wonderful mind-clearing experience of being suspended by Aziraphale’s clever rope work. It’s almost enough to make him forget that his hated broken halo is haunting the proceedings.

As always, Aziraphale is methodical in his work. He ties the chest and pelvis harnesses around Crowley’s body, maintaining skin-to-skin contact for every second from the moment the rope first touches Crowley. By the time that Aziraphale is ready to suspend Crowley from the fixed anchors in their ceiling, Crowley is in a fuzzy-minded state of relaxation. He feels loose and content, drunk on the closeness and intimacy afforded them by the act of tying endless coils of rope around Crowley’s naked form.

“Up we go,” Aziraphale says by way of warning.

Crowley drags his mind to the surface, not wanting to miss the singularly magnificent sight of Aziraphale hoisting him into the air without so much as straining. Aziraphale’s casual displays of strength had formed a significant portion of Crowley’s fantasy material for several millennia before he got to experience it first hand.

Aziraphale squares his feet and wraps the ends of two different ropes around his wrists before hauling down on them in a swift, smooth motion. Crowley is lifted up off the bed and bent back on himself at once. In his haze of contented bliss, Crowley hadn’t registered all of Aziraphale’s clever twists and loops of rope. He can see now that this was his downfall.

Crowley is suspended a short distance above the bed, in a mostly upright position with his legs folded beneath him as if he is kneeling on air. His arms are drawn behind him and crossed under his wing joints, his hands each grasping at the opposite elbow. A rope loops through both harnesses, around the base of his wings, and through the U-shape of his broken halo. Aziraphale has pulled it tight and bent Crowley’s head back towards his arse, forcing his spine into a tense curve.

“How is that, darling? How does it feel?” Aziraphale asks as he paces around the bed and looking at Crowley from all angles.

“Ah,” Crowley wriggles experimentally, testing the limits of his bonds and relaxing into the secure hold. “S’good. Bit uncomfortable around the neck but bearable.”

Aziraphale beams, reaching out to stroke along Crowley’s thigh in a calming gesture, as if Crowley is a skittish horse in need of reassurance.

“Will you bear it for me? Show me how much you can take, just for me?” Aziraphale asks, still stroking Crowley’s skin.

“Yes, Angel. I can, I will.” As he answers, Crowley feels the familiar weight and shape of his bell being pressed into his fingers. He makes room for it in his palm, holding it tightly.

“Good, good pet, my dearest, darling love.”

Crowley blushes under the warmth of Aziraphale’s praise. Somehow, it’s easier to bear when he can’t hide his face or worm away from the affection. Being forced to accept it, to take the softness and the love from his most adored Prince of Hell. Distantly, Crowley supposes that these things are the smallest of comforts in the face of what they have been through in recent years. They deserve these moments of pure happiness.

Aziraphale resumes his pacing around the room, examining his handiwork with a critical eye. Crowley watches as best he can, unable to turn his head enough to follow the full range of Aziraphale’s movements. Finally, he comes to a stop at the side of the bed, at a spot where Crowley can see him out of the corner of his eye. He fishes around in the pocket of his trousers, pulling out a black handkerchief bundled up.

“I discovered something rather interesting a few days ago,” Aziraphale says, cryptically, as he unwraps the bundle slowly. “I found my old signet ring, something I thought had been lost when I Fell. I supposed it had rolled away when I disappeared that night. When I picked it up- well, I’ll let you feel for yourself.”

Aziraphale is holding his ring on his open palm, a thick golden circle on the black field of the handkerchief. He brings it closer until Crowley can feel the faint tingle of holy energy crackle like static electricity against his skin.

“It gave me quite the shock,” Aziraphale continues, now letting the metal brush Crowley’s thigh and making the muscle twitch. “And I thought of all the interesting sensations I could have you experience.”

He pinches the air above the ring and spreads his fingers out, expanding the ring with his gesture. Crowley whimpers as he begins to add up the evidence, not liking the result of his mental arithmetic.

Satisfied with the new size of the signet ring, Aziraphale moves out of Crowley’s field of vision. The gentle touch on Crowley’s flaccid cock all but confirms the conclusion he’s just arrived at.

“I’m touching it with my bare hands, love,” Aziraphale says, reassuring him, letting Crowley know that he isn’t being asked to bear anything that Aziraphale isn’t willing to put himself through. “Hold still for me, there’s a good pet.”

For want of anything more constructive to do, Crowley whimpers again as he feels the divinity of Aziraphale’s old ring spark against the delicate skin of his cock. Aziraphale slides it down Crowley’s length, holding his shaft with steady fingers. The pressure on his testicles makes Crowley hiss in displeasure but he doesn’t otherwise object to Aziraphale tugging them through the band. Finally, the ring is settled around the base of Crowley’s cock and pulling his balls forward. Another gesture from Aziraphale shrinks the ring just enough to be snug.

“How does that feel, Crowley?” Aziraphale smooths a hand along Crowley’s side, strumming his fingers over the ropes holding Crowley in place.

“S’like pins and needles around my dick. Tight and tingly. I- uh, I don’t like it, Angel.”

Aziraphale hums thoughtfully and moves his wandering fingertips back to Crowley’s cock, stroking along his length.

“Can you bear it for me, though, love?”

Despite the discomfort, Crowley knows that he’s hardening under Aziraphale’s touch. The sharp, fizzing feeling at the base of his cock makes his face scrunch as he tries to concentrate.

“I can bear it, Angel.” Lying to Aziraphale is never an option. No matter what Crowley wants, he won’t insult Aziraphale by lying to him.

“That’s my darling. So strong for me, aren’t you?” Aziraphale coos his praise as he continues stroking Crowley to full hardness. “Beautiful, Crowley. Gorgeous.”

As he’s in no position to object or hide, Crowley takes the warm glow of Aziraphale’s words with little more than a tolerant sigh.

Aziraphale moves out of sight once more, but he’s making enough noise for Crowley to be able to track him around the room. He opens a wardrobe and pulls out one of the shallow drawers; the squeak of wood on wood is both familiar and shrill. Craning his neck against the tension holding his halo in place, Crowley tries to catch a glimpse of Aziraphale, to try and get any kind of clue about what might be coming next.

“I was curious,” Aziraphale begins again in the tone of an experienced university professor, “so I did a little experimenting. Did you know that any item carried by an angel will eventually pick up the resonance of holy energy? I certainly didn’t realise it before this week.”

Crowley gulps audibly, his taut throat objecting to the exaggerated movement.

“Don’t worry, my dear. You’re already wearing the most potent item I possess- I wore that ring for over 6000 years and you’re weathering that very well indeed.” Aziraphale sounds proud and it calms Crowley more than he would have expected.

Aziraphale’s footsteps draw closer once more until Crowley can see him beside the bed. Again, he holds something in the folds of his black handkerchief.

“My old cufflinks and waistcoat buttons all appear to have picked up a decent dose of divinity. I can hardly continue to wear such items as a Prince of Hell, but it did seem rather a waste to just dispose of them. I think you’ll like what I turned them into,” Aziraphale peels back the edges of his handkerchief as he speaks, revealing a gleaming brassy lump that Crowley can’t quite make out. Obligingly, Aziraphale holds the item up where Crowley can see it more clearly and smiles like a crocodile as the heat drains from Crowley’s face. “Colour, Crowley?” Aziraphale asks, holding the base of the butt plug in his fingertips.

Knowing that his eyes are wide and yellow, that his face is pale, that his cock is almost painfully hard, Crowley bites his bottom lip and seriously considers his answer before responding.

“Green.” To his great relief, Crowley’s voice doesn’t shake.

“My strong, brave, beautiful love, you make me so proud.” Aziraphale is beaming brighter than any star could hope for.

This is the image that Crowley keeps in his mind as he screws his eyes shut and he tries to relax for Aziraphale. He hears the snap of the lube bottle cap and notes the corresponding Pavlovian response in the form of his twitching cock. Then there’s a warm hand wrapping around his shaft, stroking him firmly but slowly, and the cool, slick press of lubricated metal breaching his hole. The stretch burns a fraction more than usual, despite the relatively small size of the plug. As soon as the widest part is inside him, Crowley’s eyes fly open in momentary alarm. He gasps and arches as much as his bonds allow, writhing against the intrusion of something so blessed and holy within his profane body.

Within Aziraphale’s grasp, his cock throbs and aches with need and he’s temporarily insensible with overstimulation.

“Crowley, love, are you alright?” Aziraphale is on the bed beside him, cradling his head.

“Fuck! Yes, Angel, you mad genius. I love you!” Crowley cries out, his eyes pleading with Aziraphale to continue.

The initial peak soon mellows into something much more bearable, something that has Crowley constantly nearing his climax but not quite teetering on the edge. Aziraphale appears content and only loosens the rope holding Crowley’s halo to allow him more movement of his head and increasing his field of vision.

“I have one last item that has picked up significant divine energy and that I believe will be useful for my purposes tonight.” Aziraphale is standing at the foot of the bed, watching Crowley test the new limits of his bondage. He reaches into his pocket and has Crowley’s undivided attention immediately. “The things I used to imagine doing to you with this,” Aziraphale smiles as he pulls his tartan bow tie from his trouser pocket. “If you’d known of them, I fear I’d have Fallen a lot sooner than I did!”

Not for the first time, Crowley marvels at how easily Aziraphale can talk and joke about his Fall. He is so eternally grateful that Aziraphale was spared the trauma that Crowley had suffered that the possibility of being jealous or bitter about it never even occurs to him.

“Those ideas, well, I haven’t given up on them,” Aziraphale smiles to himself and Crowley’s insides clench in anticipation. “But I discovered a rather lovely side effect of all this excess divinity.”

Aziraphale lays the bow tie on the bed before Crowley and unbuttons his own shirt with methodical care, slipping it off his shoulders and tossing it over to their laundry basket. When he lifts up his undershirt to reveal the pale skin of his stomach and chest, Crowley gapes. Red welts mark Aziraphale’s ribs and over his shoulders, marks of impact with something about an inch wide. Crowley’s eyes drop to the bow tie on the bed at the same moment that Aziraphale reaches for it again.

“I had to test and, well, I think it’s quite a striking effect.” Aziraphale turns to let Crowley see the marks that wrap around his torso. “Look here,” he instructs before passing his free hand over the opposite shoulder. The marks heal and disappear almost instantly, leaving creamy smooth skin in their wake. “Nothing I can’t heal, despite the nature of origin. Crowley, will you let me see you wearing these lashes?”

Until he watched Aziraphale heal the welts with little more than a thought, Crowley had been concerned. He loves wearing Aziraphale’s marks but anything that lingered more than a day or so could make Aziraphale grow remorseful and unwilling to continue treating Crowley the way he needs.

“Yes,” Crowley says, sure of himself. “Yes, Angel. Mark me as yours.”

Something dark and heated crosses Aziraphale’s face and the sight of it thrills the animalistic centre of Crowley’s lust.

The first strikes are more akin to gentle caresses, a sigh of fabric brushing over sensitised skin, but weighted with the static sparks of divinity that tingle and crackle with each contact. Crowley lets his head fall back as Aziraphale flicks at him with the bow tie, his mind wandering over the sensations that battle for his attention. His cock is as hard as he can ever remember being, contained by the prickling, needling cock ring that both pushes him towards and holds him back from his pleasure. Every flinch and twitch of his body makes the plug inside him shift and resettle. He’s so much more sensitive there, even the weaker zaps of holy energy light up his entire nervous system until his whole body is singing with it.

The lashes grow harder, gain some bite, a bit of edge. It’s still only a bow tie but the angelic residue adds a sting that Crowley can’t compare to any other implement he’s experienced. It’s delicious and maddening and arousing all at once; he is only sensation, free of anxieties and fears, his only purpose to please Aziraphale and it pleases Aziraphale to have him suspended above their bed, suspended between pleasure and pain, suspended between the divine and the diabolical.

Aziraphale stays his hand long before reaching Crowley’s limit for physical pain, doing enough to tip him into a blissful daze and cover him in crisscrossing red stripes but no more. Crowley forces his head up again to look at Aziraphale, standing at the end of the bed and gazing back at Crowley like he’s a masterpiece hanging in the finest art gallery. His wings shiver, dragging his long primary feathers against the sheets.

“So beautiful, so good for me, my darling.” Aziraphale sounds choked, overwhelmed even.

He sits on the end of the bed, reaching for Crowley’s straining cock and humming with pleasure when it jumps under his touch. Crowley can just about see Aziraphale over the angles of his contorted body, can see the tip of his own aching cock and the soft hand that strokes up and down his length. More clearly, he can see the red welts that Aziraphale has decorated him with-, each one fizzes with a power he barely remembers the shape of but recognises in an instant. He hasn’t felt this discombobulated since he’d accidentally sneezed in front of a priest in 1812 and received an ill-advised blessing.

Aziraphale continues stroking Crowley’s cock, working harder and faster over his shaft until Crowley can feel the pulsing dribbles of precome dripping from him.

“I want you to come, Crowley. You have my permission, show me your pleasure, love.” Aziraphale grants Crowley’s wish before he’s even thought to ask.

The pace and pressure are perfect, his pleasure is building in a white-hot coil low in his belly, his peak is in reach and just moments away.

Moments pass.

Crowley is painfully, achingly, tantalisingly close to his climax but it won’t come. He is clenching around the plug, tensing every muscle he has control over, straining against his bonds in ways that make the bed frame creak.

“What’s wrong, love?” Aziraphale asks in far too innocent a tone, his hand still working Crowley’s cock just how he likes.

“Ca- Can’t come, Angel,” Crowley gasps through gritted teeth. “So, so close but I just can’t!”

Aziraphale makes a sympathetic little sound and takes Crowley’s cock in his mouth, sucking him deep into a warm wetness that would usually have Crowley bucking and spilling his load within seconds. He’s so close that he can feel the edge of it with his metaphorical fingertips and it still won’t come.

Panting, whining, whimpering, pleading, Crowley is a mess of unravelling nerves and tightly wound want. By the time that Aziraphale pulls wetly away from his cock, Crowley feels like he might expire from the sheer exertion of chasing his elusive orgasm.

“You have permission, Crowley, you don’t need to hold back.” Aziraphale is wiping his mouth and taking a few steps away from the bed. Aziraphale’s hellish throne, or one very like it, materialises behind him just in time to catch his descent and he reclines looking remarkably smug and comfortable.

“I  _ can’t _ , Angel! I  _ want _ to but I can’t!”

Crowley watches Aziraphale opening his fly, slowly unfastening the buttons of his high-waisted, black, vintage trousers and revealing his erection like it’s a show just for Crowley’s titillation.

“What a shame, love. I don’t think _ I  _ can hold off any longer, you look so delicious up there,” Aziraphale strokes himself casually, taking his time with his pleasure while Crowley struggles to find his. Without warning, he leans forward and fixes Crowley with a piercing stare. “Do you  _ need _ to come, Crowley?”

Crowley slumps as much as he is able, feeling defeat in his bones.

“No, Angel. I only want to.”

With a satisfied smile, Aziraphale relaxes back into his throne and begins stroking himself in earnest, looking over Crowley’s exposed body with a gaze so weighted that Crowley swears he can feel it on his skin.

“You are as pretty as a picture, my love. You wear those marks so well and your cock is so very hard, it practically shines,” Aziraphale’s voice grows ragged at the edges as he increases his pace. “I want you to watch me, Crowley. Watch as the mere sight of you gives me enormous pleasure.”

As if Crowley could tear his eyes away from the sight before him, the muscles of Aziraphale’s arms and shoulders picked out in a gleaming layer of sweat. He is golden and glorious, debauched and delicious, the object of Crowley’s endless and all-consuming love. And he’s coming in breathy gasps, streaking his chest and stomach with his spend.

With a pang of regret, Crowley realises that he wants to be down there with Aziraphale, licking him clean and giving him whatever pleasure he might want to take from Crowley’s willing body. His mouth waters with the want of it.

Something bursts inside him, like a dam breaking or a floodgate opening. At a gesture from Aziraphale, the metaphysical grip of the ring on his cock loosens its hold on him, releasing the pent up orgasmic release that he’s been grasping at for too long.

Without a hand on him and nothing more than the sight of Aziraphale’s come spattered torso in his senses, Crowley climaxes and cries out. His ejaculate hits the floor in an arc, splashing wetly on the hardwood.

“Oh, Crowley, you perfect, beautiful creature. Look at you!” Aziraphale is on his feet once more, kicking off his trousers and reaching for Crowley’s body. “You make me so very proud.”

Aziraphale makes quick work of releasing Crowley from his bondage, first removing the plug and the ring with careful, measured movements so as not to overwhelm the too-sensitive parts of him. Rubbing life and warmth back into Crowley’s limbs isn’t necessary but the skin contact that it promotes is, so it serves a purpose.

At a word from Aziraphale, Crowley dismisses his wings and halo, grateful to be able to curl up in the arms of his lover and protector. Aziraphale holds him tightly, kissing him and stroking his hair for as long as Crowley needs. A redundant but appreciated glass of cool water appears and is sipped gratefully as Aziraphale vanishes the ropes and mess left behind by their session.

“You did so very well for me, love. You are incredibly brave and strong,” Aziraphale whispers into Crowley’s hair as he holds him. “Your trust and submission is the greatest gift, I am in constant awe of you, my darling Crowley.”

Crowley wriggles and presses himself closer, humming happily.

“Love you, Angel,” he says, sleepily.

“And I love you,” Aziraphale replies, punctuating this with a kiss. “What did you think of the whole thing? The new toys?”

Reluctantly, Crowley pushes away just enough to be able to see Aziraphale’s face.

“Was great. Really hot, very sexy.” He pauses, gathering his words together like simple-minded sheep. “Suspension pose was clever. Divine sex toys were infuriating and incredible. Loved how long you kept me on the edge. Really felt your control. S’good. Yeah.”

“I’m glad, it went even better than I had imagined. And you really do look so good with those marks all over you.”

Crowley smiles and settles his head under Aziraphale’s chin again, content to be held and loved. A few moments of silence pass.

“It does make me think about perhaps branding or tattooing you, marking you in some permanent way as mine. Something I’m proud to own. Have a think about it, sweetheart, we’ll talk about it later.”

Crowley’s eyes are wide open and his tongue flicking over his lips- the thought of Aziraphale’s mark forever etched into his skin isn’t something he’s dared to entertain before but he knows how he feels about it instantly.

“Yes, love.”

Crowley knows what he means. Aziraphale can give him all the time in the world to think about it, it won’t change his answer. This is where Crowley belongs.

**Author's Note:**

> Come be my friend on [tumblr](https://luritto.tumblr.com) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/lurlursaurus)?


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